


Starke Emotionen lösen Kurzschlussreaktionen aus

by Cherrytreegirl



Series: Es gibt viele Faktoren die das Leben beeinflussen können [6]
Category: Das Boot (TV 2018)
Genre: Fighting, Hoffmann is soft but can also yell, Hoffmann isnt quite as dense anymore, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Or Is It?, Period-Typical Homophobia, Tenny is still being a bitchy boy, WW2, but im a bitch so theres a lot of angst too, enemies to not enemies but still very slow, im just putting random shit really, mentioned suicide (attempt?), no beta we die like Sam Greenwood, oh boy this sure is something, still not great at tagging, theres like a tiiiny bit of fluff here, theres lots of swearing here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:55:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29164557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cherrytreegirl/pseuds/Cherrytreegirl
Summary: Eyes are the windows to the soul. But they can also be windows to a forgotten memory. And sometimes one should think before speaking, words can hurt.
Relationships: Klaus Hoffmann/Karl Tennstedt
Series: Es gibt viele Faktoren die das Leben beeinflussen können [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2118996
Kudos: 11





	Starke Emotionen lösen Kurzschlussreaktionen aus

**Author's Note:**

> Part 6? Already? NOOO, that can't be!
> 
> Yea, I'm thinking about ending this story here. I know I said no sad end and all, but.....
> 
> Anyway, have fun!

The storm continued raging on all night, but they made it through without overturning.

As an added benefit to their joyful time and somewhat involuntary shower, they were able to replenish their fresh water supply with the rain.

However, neither of them had slept throughout the night, fearing they’d drown if the boat did overturn at some point, and they were consequently exhausted by the time the first rays of sunlight appeared over the horizon. The dark clouds had long handed over the stage to the beautiful spectacle of sunrise with its bright colours and warmth. Hoffmann and Tennstedt could hardly appreciate it though, their eyes had grown tired and the now soft, even motion of the waves was rocking them to sleep quickly.

When the Kaleun awoke, surprisingly rather well-rested, the sun had already moved way past high noon. The 1WO was still fast asleep and Hoffmann tried to make as little noise as possible to not disturb his peaceful snoozing. In lack of communicational possibilities, he decided to scan the horizon for any sign of land. As expected though, there was nothing to be seen but water, not even a ship or plane anywhere in the endless blue.

Instead of dwelling on the hopelessness of their situation though, he turned his attention back to the little notepad that had, miraculously, stayed dry throughout the whole storm.

About an hour later he looked back up from his notebook and found Tennstedt still sleeping, and he was about to return to the drawing in his hands when he noticed that something about the 1WO had changed. Where the man slept so peacefully earlier, he now looked tense, pale, small droplets of sweat had formed on his forehead. His chest rose quickly, his breathing was shallow and uneven.

Had Tennstedt contracted Hoffmann’s sickness? Hopefully not.

Without giving it much thought the Kaleun scooted over to the sleeping man, carefully cradling his head to feel for a fever. To his surprise, he found that Tennstedt wasn’t very hot (temperature-wise), quite cool really, so it likely wasn’t the cold Hoffmann had had.

Maybe the man was having a nightmare then? It certainly didn’t fit the strong soldier image Tennstedt always presented, it felt almost strange to see him so vulnerable, but Hoffman had learned over the course of the past two days that the man wasn’t quite as cold and emotionless as he was seen by others.

It was a Kurzschlussreaktion really, and Hoffmann knew Tennstedt would never have allowed it in a waking state (he’d probably use his fists to demonstrate just how much he didn’t want it) but he pulled the mans head into his lap nevertheless. Although the 1WO’s head was quite heavy (Dickschädel eben) it wasn’t necessarily an uncomfortable weight, he tried to be as gentle as possible to avoid waking Tennstedt.

Carefully he wiped away the sweat with his handkerchief and started absentmindedly combing through the dark hair that had fallen into disarray.

Somehow, he must have fallen into a sort of trance, because when he snapped out of it, he realized he’d started to gently massage the other man’s scalp, softly running his fingers through the short hair at the side of the head, which was probably wildly inappropriate for him to do. It felt intimate in a way, way too intimate for him to be doing. They barely knew one another.

However, apparently his care had been helping Tennstedt, because now that he’d stopped the man began shifting and tensing up again. What other option had he than to continue?

If he was honest, he also enjoyed it in a way, it felt nice to thread the soft hair between his fingers, he couldn’t deny that.

The relaxed expression that had settled on Tennstedt’s face suited him much better than the ice-cold glare he usually wore. His features, although still defined, looked softer, warmer, more alive.

Less like the marble statue of a Greek god, and more like a baroque painting.

He’d had that thought before.

Why and when had he had that thought? He had no idea.

Whilst he was still reminiscing about that déja-vu, he felt a shifting under his hands and suddenly he stared into a pair of steel-blue eyes.

His brain shifted into AK*.

He wanted to jump up, push Tennstedt off of him (for some reason the situation only became embarrassing to him NOW) but he wasn’t able to move a single muscle.

All he could do was stare into that oceanic Blaugrau.

Windows to the soul some called them, and he could only agree. They were much more than just body parts.

It felt like he was going to get lost in them, fall in, never to resurface again. Gosh, that sounded like a silly cliché, straight from one of those awful romance novels, but it was true.

Somehow the ocean that hid behind Tennstedt’s lashes was able to wash away everything in Hoffmann’s head.

Worries.

Thoughts.

Blockades.

All but one thing.

One thing it didn’t wash away.

He gasped.

“It wasn’t Fräulein Strasser.”

Hearing those words out loud, although he’d uttered them himself, surprised him more than they probably should have. The man still lying in his lap seemed surprised too, if it was at the words said or just at the sudden speaking in general wasn’t clear.

Either way, Tennstedt’s soft eyes grew harsh again and, with incredible speed, he brough as much distance between them as possible on their small rubber boat.

It took Hoffmann another good few minutes until he had finally put all the newly acquired puzzle pieces in the right places. Once there was finally a clear image of that fateful evening, he returned his attention to Tennstedt.

He found the latter huddled away in the furthest most corner, almost like an injured animal in a trap.

“Why were you disappointed I didn’t remember? If anything, it was better for you, I could’ve gone to the police.”

It came out with more gall than he had intended and left a sour aftertaste in his mouth.

“You were drunk but you didn’t seem to mind. You reciprocated, if I may remind you. Why would you have called the police, huh?”, was the reply spat at him.

“THAT IS IT! You wanted to BLACKMAIL ME!”

Hoffmann really hadn’t meant to yell, but he couldn’t help the anger welling up in him and it wasn’t like anyone was going to hear them. This was the foulest of things to do. Putting someone in an uncomfortable situation and then blackmailing them for personal gain.

“Blackmail.”

Tennstedt’s voice was hoarse, on the verge of cracking.

“You only think the absolute worst of me, don’t you? That I want to get rid of you, kill you, blackmail you. I was drunk, it was a TINY moment of weakness, and you’re out here screaming BLOODY MURDER! Like I willingly gave you syphilis just to ruin YOUR life! Don’t worry this isn’t fucking contagious.”

Tennstedt sounded pained.

Hoffmann was honestly baffled by what the 1WO had just thrown at his head and it took him a moment to really make sense of what exactly Tennstedt had just said. But the man wasn’t done yet.

“I tried to fucking PROTECT YOU FROM THAT ASSHOLE WRANGEL, but no, KARL TENNSTEDT IS SO COLD AND EVIL! WHY? OH, BECAUSE HE’S GAY! I’M NOT FUCKING PROUD OF IT, BUT IT IS WHAT IT IS.”

He was shaking now, Hoffmann thought to see, no he really saw, small trickles of tears running down the man's perfectly sculpted cheekbones and getting caught in the stubble that had grown over the last few days.

Hoffmann desperately wanted to say something, anything, but his throat was drier than the fucking Sahara.

“That’s what I fucking thought. Der feine Herr, too good for us people, huh? Come on, punch me, I know you want to.”

But he didn’t want to, he really didn’t.

“It’s YOUR fucking fault we’re out here anyway!”

Ok maybe he wanted to punch Tennstedt a bit, but he refrained from it. A fistfight here wouldn’t end well.

“MY FAULT? HOW THE FUCK IS IT MY FAULT YOU’RE HERE? You could’ve agreed to ANY of the ways Wrangel proposed to get rid of me! You wanted to be captain so bad, why didn’t you, huh? YOU HAD THE FUCKING CHANCE! Were you hoping my dad would give you a medal for bringing me home? HEADS UP, ASCHGESICHT, MY OLD MAN DOESN’T GIVE A SHIT IF I SURVIVE!”

He felt how hot his face had gotten, and how sticky.

Great, now he was crying too.

Just perfect.

“YOU COULD HAVE JUST SUNKEN THAT FUCKING SHIP AND ALL WOULD HAVE BEEN GOOD!”

“YES, DEFINITELY! DO YOU THINK I’M STUPID OR SOMETHING? THEY WOULD HAVE SUNKEN US! IT WAS A FUCKING TRAP! EVEN if we had made it out, the crew WOULD STILL HAVE SET ME AFLOAT! THE REASON YOU ARE HERE IS YOUR OWN FUCKING FAULT! I would have been JUST FINE alone. THEN I ATLEAST WOULDN’T HAVE TO DEAL WITH YOUR CONSTANT BITCHING!”

It was a lie, he knew. Hoffmann was glad to have Tennstedt with him, but it had slipped out in his anger.

Tennstedt didn't reply, just stared at him, defeated, somehow looking even more hurt.

Practically destroyed.

Hoffmann wanted to apologize as soon as he realized the effect his words had had, but the 1WO decided the conversation was over before he even had the chance to get out the plainest “sorry”.

Whether it was because of their fight, he wasn’t sure, but suddenly the sunset had lost all of it calming magic. The orange and red seemed too bright, the reflections on the water were too aggressive, even the up and down of the waves wasn’t soft anymore.

The waves seemed to be mocking him.

Hoffmann felt nauseous.

He wondered why they had bothered to hold onto their lives for that long (it had only been three days, but to him, it felt like an eternity).

They were going to die anyway; he was sure of it. And honestly, he’d prefer to choose himself when he has to go, and how.

Ideally, he had hoped to die of old age one day, peacefully in his sleep, but that dream was no longer achievable in his eyes.

Hoffmann had often thought about the fate of those men whose U-Boot was critically hit, the subs that never resurfaced, water flooding the hull before it even reached the seafloor.

Had thought about how scary it was, how much it hurt. At least they had guns, though, and could end it fast. But those unlucky souls who drowned…

He had learned that reflex not to let any water in was incredibly strong.

Strong enough to keep you from breathing in right until that moment when your vision starts getting hazy, the blackness creeping inwards from the corners of your eyes until you lose consciousness.

From his own experience, he knew how uncomfortable even the smallest amounts of water entering the lungs were. To imagine them filling up with 6 maybe 7 litres?

The pain must be agonizing.

But then again, slowly perishing from dehydration, dahinsiechen, over several days, seemed worse.

It was dark out here, no artificial lights anywhere, only the moon and stars illuminating the ocean's surface.

The Kaleun was just about able to make out the silhouette of his sleeping boatmate in the pale moonlight.

The moon looked stunning, closer somehow.

He couldn't help but wonder, would humanity ever set foot on it?

Surely not in his lifetime.

Hoffmann pulled out his little notebook once again, quickly scribbling down on it.

He hoped his writing wasn’t completely illegible.

Carefully he placed it next to Tennstedt and stood up with shaking legs.

The waves didn’t particularly facilitate his endeavour, but that was ok, he didn’t need to stand for long.

With one last gaze up to the stars, he closed his eyes.

And leaned backwards.

For a moment he felt like he was flying, like he’d be falling forever.

Then the cold waves took hold of him and enveloped him in their unexplored depths.

\---------------------------------

_Es tut mir leid._

_KH_

**Author's Note:**

> * AK - Äußerste Kraft (maximum force), the highest setting a U-Boot's machines can do (highest speed n all)
> 
> Also:
> 
> APRIL FOOLS! (what do you mean it's not April yet? Do I look like I give a singular fuck?)
> 
> I'm obviously not ending the story yet, that was mean I know.  
> sorrynotsorry


End file.
